![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The owl flies on, covering what must be hundreds of miles of strange land. They pass over forest, river, farm, lake, another forest, another farm, another river.
Another lake.
There is a castle beside this one, a lonely-looking place with high walls and higher towers. Along the nearest shore, a cluster of young women in white dresses huddles under the owl's shadow. It swoops low, low enough for Isabella to see their frightened faces looking up at her, then drops her on her feet a quarter of the way around the lake.
And then it is not a giant owl at all, but a man in a long feathered cape, his hands digging into her shoulders as he spins her around and scowls thunderously into her face.
Another lake.
There is a castle beside this one, a lonely-looking place with high walls and higher towers. Along the nearest shore, a cluster of young women in white dresses huddles under the owl's shadow. It swoops low, low enough for Isabella to see their frightened faces looking up at her, then drops her on her feet a quarter of the way around the lake.
And then it is not a giant owl at all, but a man in a long feathered cape, his hands digging into her shoulders as he spins her around and scowls thunderously into her face.
He gives her a shove that sends her sprawling across the dewy grass.
"I am the Baron von Rothbart," he says, "and I can do what I please with you, Odette."
That is not her name.
But the word crackles in the air, and the talon-marks in her shoulders sting like they've been immersed in something noxious, and no other name is available to her anymore.
"I am the Baron von Rothbart," he says, "and I can do what I please with you, Odette."
That is not her name.
But the word crackles in the air, and the talon-marks in her shoulders sting like they've been immersed in something noxious, and no other name is available to her anymore.
The sting fades. The talon-marks are gone. So are her clothes; she wears a white dress of feather-patterned lace, like the other girls who are now just barely visible a long way off behind the Baron.
"Listen to me," the Baron commands. His voice fills her ears. "This is your new home. When the sun rises, you will leave this shape and live as a swan for the day. When the sun sets, you will go ashore and live as a woman for the night. When I summon you, you will come to me. You cannot escape. You cannot drown yourself. There is but a single way to free you: if you win an unclaimed heart - if one who has never loved before swears to love you forever - then the curse will be broken. Until then, my swan—" He smiles and gathers his cape around him. "Welcome home."
The giant owl hoots softly, then takes off.
"Listen to me," the Baron commands. His voice fills her ears. "This is your new home. When the sun rises, you will leave this shape and live as a swan for the day. When the sun sets, you will go ashore and live as a woman for the night. When I summon you, you will come to me. You cannot escape. You cannot drown yourself. There is but a single way to free you: if you win an unclaimed heart - if one who has never loved before swears to love you forever - then the curse will be broken. Until then, my swan—" He smiles and gathers his cape around him. "Welcome home."
The giant owl hoots softly, then takes off.
The other girls are all huddled together on the shore, a few minutes' walk from where the Baron dropped her. None of them is speaking or doing very much.
There is a certain physical resemblance between all of them, her included. Their height, the colour of their skin and hair, the shape of their faces.
There is a certain physical resemblance between all of them, her included. Their height, the colour of their skin and hair, the shape of their faces.
"I'm -"
Odette.
That's not her name - she doesn't even seem to be able to make something up, though, can't tell them she's called Bianka or Ingrid or Verena, it won't stick, the sentence won't happen.
She is almost too stunned to be angry, but she is angry enough to be twisty about it. She's not going to go by Odette. She's - she's going to nickname herself, that's it.
"I'm Etty. Who are you?"
Odette.
That's not her name - she doesn't even seem to be able to make something up, though, can't tell them she's called Bianka or Ingrid or Verena, it won't stick, the sentence won't happen.
She is almost too stunned to be angry, but she is angry enough to be twisty about it. She's not going to go by Odette. She's - she's going to nickname herself, that's it.
"I'm Etty. Who are you?"
Page 1 of 19